


Fantatics

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Pacific Rim (2013), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Torchwood, Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, International Fanworks Day 2015, Obsessions, collecting, some language, things these dorks love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles (each exactly 100 words) written for 2015's International Fanworks day! A look at what some of our favorite characters adore, collect, and otherwise fangirl over. Featuring: </p><p>Watchmen<br/>Star Trek (Reboot)<br/>Once Upon a Time<br/>Torchwood<br/>and<br/>Pacific Rim</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watchmen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for International Fanworks Day 2015. I hope you all enjoy! :)

***

Hollis

***

“—straight over the car! I chucked that sucker like he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes, I swear to you…” 

Daniel lifted his hands, laughing. “I believe you, Hollis.” 

“Well then you’re the only one.” Hollis toasted his guest with an empty beer. “The one time I wanted the damn press there. I think a kid was snapping pics but I never was sure… ah well.” 

They said their goodbyes and took to their homes. 

Later, Daniel retrieved a single Polaroid from his drawer: a supposedly unremarkable man doing the most remarkable feat.

A hero clearly pictured. 

***

Rorschach

***

Sometimes it got to be too much, when the filth rose up and dirtied him—in mind and body and soul—and Rorschach would look upon a woman prowling the streets or a man smoothing his three-hundred dollar tie and think…. what if? What if that woman hadn’t turned to the bottle or her precious needle? What if that man pulled the tie from him neck and stopped its strangulation? 

Sometimes he wrote down their stories, their what ifs and could have beens. He gave them life. Sometimes Rorschach filled his journal with a world saturated in desperate, impossible possibilities. 

***

Ozymandias

***

“Cool costume, bro!” 

Snickers and jeers followed the supposed compliment. The group of boys set about toasting their own, crude humor. Adrian stepped forward. 

“It’s not a costume,” he said. 

“Oh right, oh right.” One of them snickered. “It’s a lifestyle, yeah? That’s what gets you guys hot? Those freaks in tights?”

“I said, it’s not a costume…”

By the time the boys were close enough to see—the fine drape of the fabric, the band of real gold across his brow, a knife made out of true steel set firm against his palm—it was far, far too late. 

***

Jon

***

Jon Osterman has a collection of Sci Fi novels and memorabilia. 

Dr. Manhattan does not. 

Or he does. They both do and they do not; in the past and the present and the future and in times that cannot be grasped (except, of course, by him). Jon Osterman opens I, Robot under a café awning while Dr. Manhattan pulls apart the coffee-stained book, atom by atom. The book’s reality is neither ensured nor denied. It rests in time between cold, pink fingers and an electrified blue palm. 

Jon Osterman browses his collection. Dr. Manhattan complicates its existence. Together, they read. 

***

The Comedian

***

Eddie Blake was damn good with his hands. And yeah, that was literal and a euphemism and every fucking thing in between. 

“Bastard,” he muttered when the bottle sliced into his thumb. Blood everywhere. Eddie’s face gave an answering twinge. 

“You’ve lost, bub…” 

Thumb in his mouth, Eddie smoothed the edges of the decapitated beer, blowing away the dust, setting his new glass aside with the sandpaper. He’d made a million of these stupid things; fuckin’ civilized versions of what that Nam’ cunt had made for him. ‘Cause he was good with his hands dammit. 

The dead ones forgot that. 

***

Nite Owl

***

“Daniel… what?” 

“Jeeesus.” Dan jerked, startled, and flat out ruined the image. He glared up at Rorschach’s—somehow—befuddled mask. 

“Do you have to break in EVERY time?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m serious, Ror!” 

“Also serious.” 

“For the love of…” Grumbling and blushing, Dan pulled back to reveal a marred series of brushstrokes. “It’s calligraphy, okay? I’m just copying out bits from the newspaper but—” Dan barked a laugh. “Well, I normally find it soothing.” 

“Hurm.” Rorschach murmured. “Ink.” Lightly, he touched his mask and then the smudge that sort of looked like an owl. 

“Yeah, man. Ink.” 

***

Silk Spectre

***

“You’re not leaving the house in that!”

Laurie couldn’t tell where she began. 

She had fans. An image. A reputation to uphold… the only problem was, none of that was distinct from the fans, image, and reputation of one Sally Jupiter. 

“I won’t have you seen like this.” 

Same hair, same heart-shaped face… she swung her hips like mom because that’s what she was taught; she donned the costume because what else did she have to hold onto?

“What would people think?” 

The height of irony: Sally drags Laurie out of her humble dress and thrusts her into a miniskirt.


	2. Star Trek

***

Kirk

***

“Captain, while I’m aware that your tastes in entertainment stem many generations, I confess that I was not expecting them to be quite this… ancient.”

“How dare you, Spock.” Kirk laughed. “Bill Nye is eternal! A god among scientists and losers alike. You’re gonna love him.” 

“Is that a fact?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Undoubtedly.” 

Still chortling, Kirk brought up the—indeed—ancient video as a hologram. A beaming human face appeared, some rather horrifyingly garish colors, and then... 

Spock’s eyebrows shot straight up at the cry, “SCIENCE RULES!” 

“… Fascinating.” 

“Told ya. C’mon, I’ll teach you the chant.” 

***

Spock

***

“Well, well. Our cold-blooded hobgoblin has a soft side after all.” 

Spock ignored Dr. McCoy who leaned smugly—and rudely—in the entrance alcove of his room. He merely continued to set the stuffed sehlats carefully along his table, in order of decreasing size. 

“You collect plushies? Seriously?” 

“Do you mean to imply that I treasure gifts given to me by my mother, ones that represent my dual heritage—a toy that does not exist on Vulcan in the form of an animal not native to Earth? ... Then yes, Doctor.” 

McCoy grinned. “Well… can’t argue with that logic,” he drawled. 

***

Uhura

***

“Look at this!” Gala squealed. She launched herself belly first onto Uhura’s bed, landing amidst a sea of comics. Drooling, she ooed over the male humanoids on the cover. 

“Gimme that,” Uhura laughed. “You’re so predictable.”

“Well you’re not. Comics?” 

Uhura shrugged. “I’m not a serious collector or anything. Not really. I just started buying them as a kid to help with my studies.” She waved an issue. “Slang, colloquial phrases, the like.” 

“Freak.” 

“Whatever… want to see something that’s actually freaky?” 

And Uhura pulled out a new, mint comic… with “Enterprise” in the title and herself on the cover. 

***

McCoy

***

“That’s it… that’s it… put it in—no! What are you doing?!” 

Sulu paused, backtracking to peer into the rec center where Doctor McCoy was screaming—quite vehemently—at some sort of recording. 

“Huh. Didn’t realize he was a big sports guy.”

“I don’t think that can seriously be termed a sport.” Kirk said, making Sulu jump. His sneaky Captain nodded for him to take a closer look. 

… It was a cooking show. 

“Don’t add the cinnamon!” McCoy shrieked, causing Sulu to blink. Kirk grinned. 

“I’m a doctor, dammit, not a chef and even I know that! You fools!” 

***

Sulu

***

“What now, little human?” the Klingon asked. He raised his mace-like weapon. 

Sulu unsheathed his sword. 

“Ha! That looks sharp…” The Klingon edged forward, forcing Sulu to back into his friends. “But that’s just one weapon between the six of you.” 

“Is it?”

Kirk, Chekov, McCoy, Uhura, and Spock all pulled similar objects from their belts. Swords clinked out as the Klingon’s smiled dropped. 

“You’re still outnumbered,” he growled, gesturing to the army behind him. 

“Well yeah, maybe.” Sulu said, settling into a defensive stance that the others copied. “But guess what… I am one hell of a good teacher.” 

***

Scotty

***

“Now you two just sit back—”

“This is ridiculous.” 

“—let old Scotty take you under his wing—”

“Man, you are not older than me.” 

“—and teach you lads what true perfection is made of.” 

“Scotty.” Chekov said. “Ve know how to make sandviches!” 

Sulu nodded grumpily. 

“Ach, you do not.” Scotty shot back. “Just last week I saw you choking down PB&J!” 

“It’s good,” Chekov growled softly. 

“And you,” Scotty rounded on Sulu. “Sprouts!” 

The helmsman merely sighed. 

“I’m here to save you both. You can thank me later. Now, you start with some blasted MEAT…” 

***

Chekov 

***

“I’ve got a new game,” Kirk whispered. He leaned forward into the table where the rest of his crew sat. There were roughly two expressions in response to his statement: the Spock-Bones-Uhura look, and the Sulu-Scotty. 

“What is it?” McCoy and Scotty said, each with very different inflections. 

Kirk lifted his shot glass, toasted the bottle it came from, nodded at something behind him, and then took the shot. Grimacing, everyone else turned to look. 

Dear little Chekov was at the bar. 

“Tonight,” Kirk intoned. “We drink every time he says something is from Russia.” 

No one came out unscathed.


	3. Once Upon a Time

***

Regina 

***

“Looks like bibliophilia runs in the family,” Henry joked. He brushed a hand gently down the spine of The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. In his attention he missed his mother’s flinch. 

“I’m surprised you know that word,” Regina said. 

“Nah. I just repeat stuff Mr. Gold says.” Henry grinned, then faltered. “I… get why you’d want this now. I do. Really.” 

Regina smiled. He didn’t know though… didn’t know that she’d possessed the book for ages. She’d read it in her enchanted state. Treasured it. 

A part of Regina had recognized love long before the rest of her had. 

***

Belle

***

Rumpel had known that this day would come and he’s planned for it accordingly. He’d made sure that—for once—they couldn’t be interrupted, Belle was in a remarkably lenient mood… and he looked suitably innocent. 

Rumpel calmly popped Beauty and the Beast into his DVD player and waited for the moment to arrive. 

And my, was it obvious when it did. 

Belle’s jaw dropped. Her eyes glazed over. 

The library. 

“Do you like it?” Rumpel asked lightly. “You know, magic can recreate a lot of things…” 

The only time she was tempted. 

And the only time she said yes. 

***

Snow and Charming

***

“You’re joking?” Emma looked between their beaming faces and what they’d thrust into her hands. “Oh god. You’re not joking.” 

“Why in the world would we joke about this?” Mary Margaret said. She was practically bouncing. 

David stilled her with a hand around her waist. “Your mom’s right, Emma. Why would we joke? This is fantastic.” 

“Err… really?” Emma fiddled with the accessory. “Because I kind of thought it was…” 

“Yes?” 

“Well… lame and…” 

“What?”

“…narcissistic?” 

“Emma!” Mary Margret cried. “It’s flattering.” 

David laughed. “Or humbling. Now,” he tapped Emma’s mouse ears. “Are you coming to Disney World or not?” 

***

Emma

***

“Lay it flat—that’s it—now turn your wrist…” 

Emma and Henry were seated out on the playground, a single coin between them. Emma twirled it once, it disappeared, she reversed the process and the coin reappeared, seemingly from nowhere. Henry grinned. 

“Harry Houdini fan?” he asked. 

“Copperfield, actually.” Emma smiled sadly. “I took these tricks and used them for break ins, stealing cars…” She trailed off. “I’m pretty awful, huh?” 

“… You did what you needed to.” Henry took the coin, sloppily making it disappear. “Besides, this just shows that a part of you believed in magic all along.” 

***

Rumpelstiltskin

***

Rumpel had fallen in love with the clothes of this world— vibrant colors and cloths that were so much more than anything he’d had access to as a spinner. Ironic that he’d gotten a taste of variety as the Dark One only when he’d given up spinning as a trade… but leather boots and dragon-hide vests still didn’t compare to what this world had to offer. 

He’d never even heard the word ‘costume’ before. But now… exquisite suits and elaborate gowns. Making costumes had become his forte. 

And as with so many thing, Rumpelstiltskin was very, very good at it. 

***

Henry

***

Henry yelled in dismay as he pulled up his controller—which was completely useless of course. He shook it a bit too, just in case. 

“Mom, shoot him, shoot!” 

“I am!” 

“No not you, other mom!” 

“‘Other mom,’” Regina growled but she dutifully shot at the approaching target. Emma’s player came up behind her… taking out the other nine. 

“How is it,” Emma said with a grin. “That you’re the murderer but I’m the better shooter?” 

“Hardy-har.” 

“Mooooom,” Henry admonished. “Can’t we just save the planet in peace?” 

“Sure, kid, sure… Regina?” 

“On it.” 

This time her aim was perfect.


	4. Torchwood

***

Owen 

***

“What is that?” Tosh screamed. Whatever was pouring out of the speakers on Owen’s desk was louder than a pack of weevils in heat. 

“Sex Pistols.” 

“What?” 

“SEX PISTOLS.” 

Owen swiveled in his chair, head banging. “Don’t tell me you don’t know ‘em, Tosh! C’mon. You can’t be that much of a washout.” 

“I’m not…” Tosh muttered, too low to be heard. 

With Ianto out shopping and Gwen checking readings with Jack, Tosh was left alone to bear the screaming. 

Still… 

Owen kept drumming with his pens. 

It was just enough incentive to get Tosh to look up the lyrics. 

***

Rhys

***

At his core Rhys was a pretty simple man. In the winter of 2009 he could say that he well and truly loved three things: 

Gwen (and by extension all that Gwen loved, including Torchwood).  
Christmas.  
Stupid, novelty T-shirts.

It was a wonderful day when those three things came together. 

December 25th and Gwen tossed out “From Rhys” packages with a grin. Each contained a shirt: 

“The Captain” (Jack – “Hell yeah!”)  
“The Butler” (Ianto – “Well, it’s better than ‘Teaboy.’”)   
“Bad-Ass Bookworm” (Tosh – “Now really.”)   
“The Queen” (Gwen – “Ha! Good boy.”) 

And 

“The King of the Weevils” 

Owen was hilariously pleased. 

***

Gwen 

***

“Gwen?” Owen riffled through her DVD collection, chuckling at the films before tossing them aside. “The hell did your boyfriend mean by, ‘bad move letting her choose’?” 

“I’d like to know the same thing,” Ianto said, settling in between Tosh and Jack with the popcorn. “Oh god. Please don’t let it be Alien…” 

“Relax.” 

Gwen nudged Owen aside, hummed a bit… and pulled Raw Flesh IV from the shelf. 

“That’s your choice??” Jack cried. 

Owen paled. “Bloody hell, girl. We just escaped cannibals.” 

Three horror films later, Gwen’s laugh was still the most horrifying thing the team witnessed that night. 

***

Myfanwy

***

“She’s in a mood today,” Ianto called. He threw himself into the chair beside Gwen, a chunk of fabric missing from the sleeve of his suit. He had a book tucked under one arm. 

“You read to the pterodactyl?” 

“Myfanwy loves it.” Ianto flipped the book to show an illustrated copy of Dino Diane Goes to the Park. “We’ve read the whole series, but this one has Tracy T-Rex referring to her as a dinosaur.” 

A piercing, angry shriek sounded above them. 

“… This is a problem because?” 

“Pterodactyls are flying reptiles, Gwen, and Myfanwy is a stickler for accuracy.” 

***

Tosh

***

Naked Hide and Seek… and Tosh was thrilled when the cameras caught Jack sneaking dramatically back to his office, an alien plant placed strategically between his legs. 

It wasn’t sexual excitement (well, maybe a little) but rather pleasure at having one more clip to add to her vid. 

Kisses, hugs, trips and falls… so much amazing laughter. Tosh had a talent for splicing it all together, playing with order and timing so that Gwen’s spit takes always slowed down and Ianto’s eyes rolls matched with Owen’s jokes. 

Someday, when they desperately needed a reminder, Tosh would show it to them. 

***

Ianto 

***

“I like the suit.” 

Fame was such a malleable thing. From the historical hero who’d lived six generations before, to the rockstar whose shirt you catch and press, tangible, against the sweat on your cheek. Fame was a range. Was it so odd that Ianto found ways to idolize a man—a being—who he’d never conversed with, never even seen? 

The Doctor. 

Ianto looked good in a suit. He knew this… 

But only because a Tenth incarnation looked good too and god, Ianto wanted to be just like him. 

“I like the suit.” 

Ianto wondered sometimes if Jack knew. 

***

Jack

***

A shockingly lazy Sunday. No Rift activity. No weevils. No nothing. 

“That’s it!” Jack shouted. “Road trip!” 

Twenty minutes later they arrived at Torchwood’s storage facility. 

“Whose life are we looking at, Jack?” Tosh asked. 

“My own,” he said, smiling. “What? Live as long as I do, you’re gonna accumulate a lot of stuff. Had to put it somewhere. C’mon, treasure hunt time! Whoever finds the weirdest relic gets a prize.” 

Weird things were definitely found and by nightfall everyone had tiny gift in hand, a piece of Jack to take back home with them. 

Everyone left with a prize.


	5. Pacific Rim

***

Hermann

***

Newton wasn’t the only one with a fondness for tattoos. Heaven knew his peers wouldn’t believe it based on his remarks, but beneath five protective layers Hermann hid a map. A map of the stars. 

If one understood stars to mean lives: pilots, personnel, jaegers, names that stuck with Hermann from the news feeds… he gave them each a personal line of code that circled back on itself, creating a dot, and these dots he connected in constellations along his back. 

Hermann added at least three a month. 

Newton braved their enemy through the mirror. Hermann immortalized their hope. 

***

Newt

***

“Om, nom, nom…” Newt paused in making his Knifehead action figure gnaw off the leg of a Russian jaeger. He looked up at Hermann, grinned, and ducted back to his toys. 

“Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!” he yelled and had the Kaiju devour the jaeger. 

Hermann’s scratching stilled… then started up again. 

“Dude.” Newt said. “Don’t even pretend that you didn’t get that reference. I’m onto you.” 

If anything the scratching got more indignant. Hermann huffed. 

“I admit nothing.” 

“Okay, okay…” Newt glanced up delicately. “Stupid show anyway, totally deserved to get cancelled.”

Hermann whirled. “You—!” 

“Gotcha, dude!” 

***

Stacker

***

“This doesn’t surprise me in the least, sir.” 

Raleigh shook his head at Stacker’s assumptions. Of course he’d have fish. During a worldwide apocalypse, hauled up in a steel and stone monstrosity, directing the very future of humanity… of course he’d find time to keep and maintain fish. 

Who even doubted that? 

“What, are they all named after old cowboy flicks?” Raleigh asked with a grin. He knew Stacker’s weaknesses. 

“Some,” came the easy agreement. “Others after jaegers… a few from cowboy books.” A small smile emerged. “See that goldfish swimming in circles?” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“That’s you.” 

“… Goddamit, sir.” 

***

Raleigh

***

“That’s it. I’ve had it.” 

Raleigh slammed down his fork, kicking back the bench and nearly vaulting over the table. He stalked towards Chuck who—true to his nature—had been acting like a little shit. Today’s idiocy included insulting child humor spoken at a decibel that the whole cafeteria could hear and “accidentally” chucking peas in Raleigh’s direction. 

Enough. 

Raleigh got right up in Chuck’s face. “We’re done, got it?” He hissed. “It’s time to settle this, once and for all.” 

Chuck stood too. “Bring it, Becket.” 

“Oh I will. You, me… Mario Kart brawl. You’re going down, Chuck.” 

***

Tendo

***

He swept through the door just as Newt was in the process of picking up the shards—hands filled with his mistake, eyes overflowing with guilt… and fear. 

Tendo pointed to the mess. “That was my favorite mug.” 

“Uh…” Newt stalled for time. He glanced hopefully at the ledge running along the back of Tendo’s room, each inch of space packed with a different cup. 

“Dude, you… have a lot of favorite mugs?”

“Well yeah, no shit, but that was my FAVORITE favorite.” 

“Sorry?” Newt wiggled a piece. “I’ll glue it!”

“Well…” Tendo cracked a smile. “Might add some character.” 

***

Mako

***

“But fiiiiirst…” 

“No.” 

“Just lemme…” 

“No, no, no.” 

“—take a selfie!” 

“Mako.” Raleigh half laughed, half grimaced as she cackled over the photo. “Okay. Rule one: I don’t think it counts if I’m in the picture too.” 

“Then you know nothing about selfies. It’s not about you, Becket.” 

“Ouch! I know they’re ancient.” 

“They made a comeback with the Kaiju.” 

“… please don’t tell me kids tried snapping pics with our resident sea-monsters.” 

“Kids.” Mako agreed, like that explained everything. It kinda did. 

“I am no kid,” and she took another photo. 

Raleigh grinned at the result. “Definitely not.” 

***

Chuck

***

Newt was rounding the corner, chatting a mile a minute, when Hermann suddenly pulled him back. He shushed him and pointed to where both Hansens were speaking. Or shouting. 

“Another argument,” Hermann said sadly. 

“More like funding,” Newt countered. 

Indeed, it seemed that all Chuck was able to say was, “What were they thinking? They can’t do this!” and variations thereof. Herc was nodding. It was a story they’d heard a million times before. 

Except…

“What’s even happening anymore? One Piece is gold—pun fucking intended!—and they’re shitting all over it in the anime!” 

“Too right, son. Too right.”


End file.
